


Everything Ends

by lostresidentevilpotter



Series: What If? [2]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Gen, This thing is kind of fucked up I guess so I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 12:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostresidentevilpotter/pseuds/lostresidentevilpotter
Summary: AU: The plane goes down, and our well-meaning heroes aren’t as lucky this time. Alicia-centric. Definite hints of Alicia/Althea.





	Everything Ends

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know where this came from. I should be writing Crash, but this popped into my head, so I wrote it up real quick. It’s not focused on Alicia/Althea, but there’s definitely elements of that here because I can’t help myself. Anyway, I apologize in advance. This isn’t a happy one.
> 
> The warnings of Major Character Death and Graphic Depictions of Violence are very present in this story, as well as depictions of suicide, so please be aware of that. If it's not your kind of story, please don't read.

At first, Alicia thinks she’s dead. The plane went down. She remembers that much. The rest of it comes back in flashes. Al screaming about engine failure – about not knowing what to do about it. The feeling of the plane as it fell out of the sky, plummeting toward a forested area. Morgan desperately trying to calm Al down, though it’s unlikely she could hear him over the sound of her own voice and Strand’s voice in her ear. John and Luciana clutching onto each other in the moments before the impact. Alicia’s eyes open, and she thinks she’s dead.

 

She quickly figures out that the plane’s on its side, and she determines the source of that awful smell must be jet fuel. Her fingers work to free herself from her seatbelt, and she drops to the ground before she’s prepared. She tries to catch herself but lands awkwardly, crying out as her left wrist crunches beneath her weight. Alicia rolls off of her wrist, but she can’t move, can’t touch it without immense pain. Terror grips her when she hears _it_ : the unmistakable sound of the walking dead, slowly but steadily approaching the wreckage.

 

And Alicia’s fucking wrist is broken.

 

Something drips onto her head and oozes down the side of her face. She reaches up with her good hand and touches her fingertips to the substance. Her fingers come back bloody, and it takes her dazed brain a few moments to realize nothing dripped on her. Her face is bleeding. But right now, her bloody face is the least of her problems. She needs a weapon – she needs someone to help her eliminate the impending dead.

 

She gets to her feet, cradling her wrist to her chest, and she first goes to Morgan.

 

“Morgan,” Alicia says. She taps him on the shoulder. “Morgan! Come on! We have to – there’s – the dead are coming. Come on.”

 

Morgan doesn’t move. Alicia glances to the back of the plane. It’d be one thing if they were sealed in as the dead surrounded them. That, at least, would be somewhat manageable. But the tail end of the plane is completely ripped away, exposing the entire cabin to the outside – to the dead.

 

“Morgan!” Alicia shouts. She presses her fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse, but she isn’t quite sure where she should find it. Her hand trembles violently, and she can’t tell if he’s unconscious or –

 

No. That’s not an option. He’s not allowed to be _dead_. None of them are allowed to be dead. They’re out here to help people. They aren’t allowed to die _now_ , after _everything_.

 

“Alicia,” John grunts. His hat is gone, probably sucked out the back of the plane with the rest of their shit. Blood spreads across his shirt from his lower abdomen, a piece of shrapnel poking out of his gut.

 

“John!” Alicia breathes. She leaves Morgan’s side, silently hoping he regains consciousness soon, and she helps John free himself from his seat with her one good hand. “John, your –”

 

“It’s gonna have to wait,” he says. He looks around for a moment and says, “Where’s my hat?”

 

“Forget the hat,” Alicia says. “We have bigger problems.”

 

“Check on Luci,” John orders. “I’ll go see if I can get to June and Al.”

 

“My wrist is broken,” Alicia blurts. “I can’t –”

 

He yanks one of his revolvers from his hip and holds it out. When Alicia hesitates, he insists, “Take it. Use it wisely. Holler if there’s a problem.”

 

John limps out of the back of the plane, grimacing and holding onto his side. Alicia stores the revolver on the inside of her jacket for the time being. She stares out the back of the plane for a few seconds after John disappears around the corner. She doesn’t have time to worry about John – or Morgan, Al, or June for that matter. Luciana isn’t in her seat. She’s –

 

The pole sticks out of the center of Luciana’s chest. The tears stream down Alicia’s face before her brain fully processes exactly what her eyes are seeing. In their quest to change the world for the better, their plane crashed and now Luciana –

 

“John!” Alicia shrieks. She won’t believe it. She can’t, not until someone else independently confirms that what she’s seeing is the truth. John doesn’t answer, though, so Alicia kneels in the space beside Luciana and checks for a pulse. The small, rational part of her brain tells her she won’t find one, no matter where she presses her fingers to on Luciana’s neck. Luciana’s eyes are open but unseeing. Alicia wipes the tears from her face with her sleeve, even though the tears don’t stop, then she shuts Luciana’s eyes and tries not to think about how they’re going to reopen sometime in the near future if no one destroys the brain.

 

Alicia stumbles toward Morgan, bracing herself against the side with her good hand so she doesn’t topple over. Her legs have stopped wanting to support her. She wants nothing more than to fall to the dirt and lay there until the dead converge on her. Luciana is –

 

Alicia can’t even think the word. Her throat constricts, but she can’t break down yet. She needs to figure out definitively if Morgan is alive. And goddamn it, he better be alive. But she still can’t find a pulse, and she notices the blood trickling out of his ears.

 

“No,” she whispers, “no, no, _no_.” Alicia pulls her hand away from Morgan’s neck and screams, “You can’t do this! This was your idea! You don’t _get_ to be dead!”

 

Yelling at Morgan isn’t productive. Alicia staggers out of the plane in search of John, hoping to any higher power that’s willing to listen that the rest of her friends are alive. The dead make their way down the hill toward them, but none of them are close enough to be worth bothering with yet. The collective sound of the growls from the dead sends shivers down Alicia’s spine, but a different sound makes her blood run cold. She walks slowly toward the cockpit. She knows what the sound is, but she isn’t ready to confront what it means yet.

 

The first thing she sees is John, on his knees, hunched forward, sobbing. When has John Dorie _ever_ sobbed? To be fair, Alicia hasn’t known him very long, but he doesn’t strike her as the crying type. His palm presses flat against the window of the cockpit, and Alicia realizes she can’t see through that window. It’s splattered with blood from the inside.

 

“Jesus,” she blurts. John doesn’t react to her presence. He just keeps crying. Alicia puts two and two together easily. The blood obviously belongs to June, even if Alicia can’t visually confirm that. John wouldn’t be this worked up over Al. “John, what about Al?” Alicia asks suddenly. She grabs his shoulder and shakes him, probably more violently than she should, and yells, “Is Al alive or not?”

 

He nods, unable to form words, and Alicia resists the urge to smack him.

 

“So you’re sitting here _crying_ when Al’s still alive? What’s wrong with you?” Alicia demands. “Get up! The dead are coming! Help me get Al free _now_!”

 

John’s body stills so abruptly, Alicia balks. He stops crying. He stands up.

 

“The door’s up there,” he manages to say. His voice is strangled, quiet, and his shirt is at least twice as bloodied as it was when Alicia first saw him after the crash. He’s too pale, too shaky, even for a man that’s been sobbing. He links his fingers together and braces himself, waiting for Alicia. She steps up onto his hands, and John boosts Alicia up to the top of the plane. She’s forced to grab onto the cockpit’s door handle with her left hand, and she cries out as her wrist explodes with pain. Alicia grits her teeth and holds on because she has no other choice. She pulls herself up, likely doing irreparable damage to her already broken wrist – especially now that June is dead.

 

Alicia hears John hit the ground with a _thud_. She hopes he’s still conscious, because the dead aren’t stopping, and he’s their first target. Alicia takes a moment to catch her breath then gets to work on the door. It’s jammed, or maybe her right arm on its own isn’t strong enough to open it, but she can’t give up. John needs help, and since Al’s still alive – and hopefully not badly injured – then they can hold the dead off and get John out of here. They might have no choice but to leave the rest of their friends. It wouldn’t be the first time Alicia has ever abandoned the bodies of dead companions, but –

 

The door finally budges, and Alicia nearly pulls a muscle trying to get the damn thing completely open. She peers down into the cockpit, suddenly thankful that she didn’t eat breakfast. She’s seen some nasty shit in her life, but the state of June’s body –

 

Alicia tears her eyes away when Al moves.

 

“John,” Alicia calls. “You still there?”

 

“Yeah,” he answers. “The dead –”

 

“Hold them off, John!” Alicia commands. “I’ve got to free Al.”

 

She has no idea how she’s going to do it. Al’s down there, strapped into the pilot’s seat, stuck beside June’s body. Well, Alicia realizes, there’s no need to make sure June won’t resurrect. Alicia’s body heaves at the thought, but she holds it together – probably because she didn’t eat. She was too nervous before the flight to try. And now it’s saving her some extra trouble.

 

Alicia jumps at the sound of the first gunshot. A body falls somewhere to Alicia’s left, and she hears John cock the hammer of the revolver. He has five shots left. Five more kills before he’s practically unarmed.

 

“Al!” Alicia hisses. “Hey!”

 

Al moans, but her head falls back, and she stares blankly up at Alicia. Her face is flecked with blood, and her clothes are utterly splattered with it. Alicia tries to determine the source – what’s bleeding? – but it dawns on her that Al’s wearing the blood from June that _didn’t_ hit the windows around them.

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Alicia lies. John’s gun fires again. Again, another body falls. “We need to hurry,” Alicia says. “Can you get yourself free?”

 

She really doesn’t want to have to go in there and free Al herself. She doesn’t even think she’s going to be able to pull Al up, let alone go down and get herself out. And she still has John to worry about. Alicia lies flat on her front and reaches down with her good arm.

 

“Come on,” Alicia says. “Give me your hand.”

 

Al fumbles with the seatbelt long enough that John fires off his third shot. She gets herself free and nearly falls toward the other end of the cockpit. She catches herself at the last second, her eyes finally landing on June. Alicia’s first clue that something is seriously wrong with Al is her absolute lack of reaction. Al merely turns her eyes upward. Their eyes lock, and Alicia’s start to water again. She tries to control it, for Al’s sake more than her own, but the tears start falling again, and all Alicia can do is wiggle her fingers and whisper, “Please take my hand.”

 

Al grasps onto Alicia’s forearm, and Alicia returns the favor and helps her climb up out of the cockpit. They both fall back onto the side of the plane, chests heaving from the exertion, and a fourth gunshot echoes off the trees. Alicia forces herself to sit up, eyes quickly scanning Al for any sign of injuries. The only thing she can see is a particularly nasty gash in Al’s forehead. Alicia prays that’s it.

 

“We have to help John.”

 

Al’s eyes close. She exhales. “Alicia,” she manages to say.

 

“No!” Alicia shouts, jabbing her finger into the center of Al’s chest. “We need to help John! The others – the others are –” Alicia’s voice breaks, but she manages to whisper, “The others are gone. It’s just the three of us now. We have to help him.”

 

“Alicia,” Al says quietly. She cups Alicia’s cheek in her palm. Al is eerily calm, considering half their friends are dead and John’s about to be next if – the fifth shot rings out, leaving John with one more bullet. “It’s over,” Al says. “We lost.”

 

Alicia knocks Al’s hand off her face, tries not to notice how Al’s palm comes away smeared with the blood still oozing out of the side of Alicia’s face. Alicia tries not to look at the blood – June’s blood – that Al has no choice but to wear. Alicia tries not to look at the way Al’s face contorts as she realizes she did this. She crashed the plane. She killed their friends.

 

Alicia can’t look at Al any longer. She peers over the side of the plane, down at John. He managed to sit himself up at some point, his back against the plane.

 

“John!” Alicia hisses. He looks up, lips parted, and for some godforsaken reason, he smiles. “John, come on!” Alicia says. She reaches down and adds, “Give me your hand! You need to get up here! We’ll figure out what’s next.”

 

The dead are coming. Alicia estimates quickly the number of dead just shambling straight for John. At least twenty. Maybe thirty. The closest one is almost there, and she realizes he’s not going to shoot it. She yanks the revolver from her jacket pocket, aims quickly, and fires. She isn’t prepared for the kickback and nearly breaks her good wrist, too, but the dead falls to the ground, a bullet hole in its forehead.

 

“John, please,” Alicia begs. She sets the revolver beside her on the plane and reaches down for him again. “Please!”

 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. Alicia can barely hear him over the growls of the dead. She reads his lips as he says, “It’s okay, Alicia. You did your best.”

 

The gun cocks, and Alicia turns her head to the side. She clamps her hand over her mouth, and her entire body shakes as she inches back from the edge. She takes the revolver with her and turns back to Al. The dead reach John’s body, and Alicia shakes so violently she can’t sit upright. She drops onto her back, tears rolling down both cheeks, and stares up at the bright blue sky. There’s not a cloud in sight.

 

Al is uncharacteristically silent. She unzips her jacket and fights her way out of it, throwing it over the side of the plane. Alicia reaches for John Dorie’s remaining revolver. She has five bullets left. The dead will eventually lose interest in John and turn their attention to Alicia and Al, trapped atop the plane with nowhere to go but down into the hands of the dead.

 

“What do we do?” Alicia finally asks. “What’s the plan?”

 

“Alicia,” Al says.

 

“What’s the plan?” Alicia yells. She sits up, sets her eyes on Al’s face. “What do we do?” Alicia whispers. She grasps onto Al’s hand, holds tight, and she barely chokes back a sob as Al reaches for the revolver with her free hand. “No,” Alicia says. “There’s got to be something –”

 

Al seems to rethink her course of action and sets the revolver in the small space between their legs. Alicia watches Al with her eyebrows pulled together as Al brings her free hand up to her mouth. She coughs, an awful, wet sort of sound, and when she lowers her hand, it’s slick with fresh blood. Alicia’s eyes widen, and this time, Al can’t cover her mouth in time. Blood bubbles between her lips and spatters against her pants and the plane. Alicia releases Al’s hand and takes two fistfuls of the front of her shirt. Al’s in no shape to protest, body still racked with coughs that bring more blood up. Al turns her head to the side and spits as Alicia all but rips Al’s shirt open.

 

Her stomach is splotched with deep purple spots, and suddenly the dead are the least of Alicia’s problems.

 

“It’s okay,” Al whispers. Her hand curls around the revolver between them, and a small smile flickers on her lips, tinged with blood. “It’s okay,” she repeats. “We did our best.”

 

“No,” Alicia says. “No, we can’t just – there has to be a way!”

 

The dead, in the meantime, have surrounded the plane. Al swipes at the blood on her chin with the back of her hand, though it’s rather useless at this point. Al holds the revolver out to Alicia. Alicia snatches it from her and sets it aside. Alicia puts both her hands on Al’s face, one on each side, fingers curling against the back of Al’s neck. Alicia barely notices the pain in her wrist, even though the pain hasn’t ceased since she first fell on it. That feels like years ago, even though it wasn’t even a half hour ago. Al’s eyes close, and Alicia watches her struggle not to cough. Alicia inhales deeply, raggedly.

 

“Don’t fight it,” Alicia says. She leans her forehead against Al’s, moves one of her hands to the back of Al’s head, stroking her fingers through Al’s hair in a way she hopes is soothing. Her hand trembles, but Alicia forces it to stop. She couldn’t save Luciana. Morgan. June or John. She can’t save Al – she can’t even save herself. But she can be here in the last, worst moments of Al’s life, at the very least.

 

“I did this,” Al chokes out.

 

“It’s okay,” Alicia murmurs. She keeps combing her fingers through Al’s hair. “It’s not your fault.”

 

They pull back, and Alicia wipes her thumb along Al’s lower lip, smudging her thumb with blood. Alicia’s beyond thinking rationally. She surges forward, cradling Al’s face in both her hands, and brings their lips together. Al’s body stiffens, and she tastes overwhelmingly of blood. The fact that it’s someone else’s blood makes it much grosser than it would be otherwise, but Alicia doesn’t have much time left to be grossed out. This is her last moment of real human connection before –

 

Al’s hand pushes against Alicia’s chest, gently, breaking them apart. They stare into each other’s eyes and try to think of something to say, but words have stopped mattering. Alicia grabs the revolver. They have five bullets left. Alicia twists around and fires off three into the skulls of the dead. Three fall to the ground, leaving only about three hundred left. Al’s about to tackle Alicia for the gun, but Alicia brings it back between them, holding it gingerly in both hands.

 

Two bullets.

 

“It’s okay,” Al breathes. She places her hand on Alicia’s thigh, hacks up another wave of blood. Her face is paler than John’s was right before his death. Alicia should be terrified. But really, she just feels…calm.

 

“I know,” Alicia says. She smiles, touches her hand to Al’s cheek one last time. Al’s eyes close. Alicia inhales, and she pulls the hammer back on John’s revolver. The click is almost comforting.

 

Alicia exhales.

**Author's Note:**

> I've edited this just to add it to the What If? series I've started, because this is really just a "what if everyone died in the plane crash" story.
> 
> So yeah. Let me know what you think if you want lol I'd love to hear from you!


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